


The Bet

by judithyaffa



Series: Winchester Fun [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 12:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judithyaffa/pseuds/judithyaffa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys are winding down after a hard hunt... And Dean makes a bet with Sam. Will Sam score in this one? Will Dean have to eat crow? What is going on here!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just One Number

**Author's Note:**

> A/N This story is actually the prequel to The Poem, and it took me several months to write. I want to thank the people who helped me along the way:
> 
> * My husband, for encouraging me in my writing!
> 
> * My two oldest children, for their feedback on the first chapter.
> 
> *Mali Bear's Buddy for the idea she gave me of using a bet as part of my plot.
> 
> *Celeste301, CasXxGrippedXxMeXxTight and Wynefred for being beta readers of some of the later chapters of this story. I was told that the writing got richer as the story progressed. If so, it's definitely due to these three very talented writers! You can look up their user names of fanfiction.net - If you do, you won't be sorry!
> 
> *Some of my loyal readers on fanfiction.net, whose reviews encouraged me greatly!

The best part of a hunt was always the aftermath. The slow unwinding, coming down from the high of having put another nightmare back where it belonged. Dean didn't try to analyze it. He just knew that today had been a hard hunt, the adrenaline pumping. If you called this hunt hair-raising, his hair would have been lifting 500 pounds.

And there had been a few too many close calls. A spirit with a hatchet that came just centimeters from Sam's head... a lighter that caught only at the last moment... John finding the spirit's favorite fishing rod, which for some reason, was tethering the ghost to this world. Damn rednecks and their fishing.

Dean took a long pull on a cold beer. He leaned against the wall, surveying the bar. Sam was at the bar, getting his beer. He and Sam had snuck out for a night of fun - well, not really snuck out. He sighed, remembering the argument that had broken out between Dad and Sam after the hunt. It all started when Dad announced that he had to go out and meet a contact of his about a lead on their next case. It was better that the boys stay at the motel.

Sam erupted. "That's it," he slammed his fist into the table. "No more, Dad," he shouted. "We can't go straight into another hunt!"

"You'll do whatever I tell you to, Sam," thundered John.

"Well next time, you take hatchet man and I'll burn the bones!" Sam threw down his shotgun on the bed of the motel room. "I'm sick and tired of it."

Sam had stormed out, and as usual, Dean went running out to, in Dad's words, "watch after your brother."

Well, Dean decided, he and Sam definitely needed some R&R. So, with a little persuasion (and some blackmail), Dean had dragged Sam down to the local pub - O'Shaunassy's Watering Hole.

O'Shaunassy's was your typical college town bar, with its share of grizzled characters, juniors pretending to be bar-savvy, and the occasional in-over-your-head freshman sneaking in. Sam already looked better. He was talking to a blond waitress by the bar. She was looking at him and laughing. He took his beer and came back over to Dean.

"Hey remember," Dean said, "Only one for you."

"Thanks, Mom." Sam stuck his tongue out at Dean. "I'll have you know, I've been killing things since I was 9. I think I can handle my liquor."

"So what were you two talking about?" Dean asked, gesturing at the waitress..

"The ratio of alcohol in the average bar patron's system," Sam responded with utter seriousness.

"Oh dude, you are such a geek! Couldn't you come up with a better line than that?"

Sam snorted. "Like the lines you come up with? Really? Let's see.. how about 'Do you work for UPS? I could have sworn I saw you checking out my package.' "

Dean snorted. "I never used that line."

"Sure you did. Just yesterday, when we stopped to get gas... Or how about, 'If I told you that you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?' "

"Some girls go for that... But hey, if you're talking about drinks, why not just buy her a drink?" asked Dean.

Sam looked at his brother incredulously. "Come on, Dean, I'm not looking for anything serious with her..."

"Hey, it's just a drink. Y'know, you're so damn serious. Lighten up!" Dean looked at his younger brother and shook his head. He'd been brooding a lot lately, and he and Dad were fighting about college almost every day now, but he just didn't know how to go out and have fun.

Well if anyone could get his baby brother to have fun, it would have to be Dean Winchester.

He looked at Sam, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You've forgotten how to have fun, Sam. I bet you couldn't get a girl's number, even if you tried."

Sam glared at his brother. "That is so not true. I have gotten plenty of girl's numbers."

"Oh yeah? Name one!"

"Well..." He thought for a moment. "There's Amy Saperstein."

"Yeah, in like third grade. She was on the class list, dude. She tried to hold hands with you and you ran away, yelling cooties!" Dean laughed.

"Well, how about Nina Henley?"

"That was real romantic. She was your lab partner in seventh grade."

"Come on, Dean... Then how about Matilda Joshikins?"

"Yeah, she forced you to go to the prom with her. I heard you stood by the punch bowl the whole time." He took a swig of his beer. "What a way to treat a girl."

Sam blushed.

"No, Sam, I mean a real number. A real date."

"Fine, Dean! I'll get some girl's number. How about her?" He pointed to a pretty redhead playing pool.

"Let's make it a bet," said Dean. "You get any girl's number tonight and I'll do whatever you tell me to for a day."

"Fine... But what about if you win? Not that that's going to happen..."

"Same thing. You do what I say for a day. Anything," Dean said with a smirk. _After all, what were the odds that he'd actually succeed? And even if he did, how bad could it be? This was Sam they were talking about... Square Sam, his baby brother._


	2. That Tall Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Across the bar, someone's noticing Sam...

Sarah pushed her red hair away from her face, bending over the pool table, focusing on this shot. Three ball in the corner pocket. It was a tricky angle, but she thought she could make it. But pool, which normally kept the boredom at bay while she was dragged to these places by her sisters, didn't hold her interest tonight. The man she was playing was really no competition, a snarky idiot who was drinking too much and kept remarking on the fact that she was a girl, and this was a man's game. She had nicknamed him "Snark". She was already way ahead of him, but even the thought of the hundred bucks on the table, there for the taking, didn't soothe her. She wryly remembered how her sisters had begged her to come.

"Come on, Sarah, you'll be so bored at home..."

"How do you expect to meet any cute guys?"

"It won't be fun without you..."

"I don't see that the guys you meet in bars would be the ones I'd want to meet," she protested. "Did you know that the blood alcohol content level in your average bar patron tends to be about .06, which can seriously impair your reasoning, not to mention depth perception..."

Her oldest sister cut her off. "Don't be such a wet blanket, Sarah. Come on, you'll have fun."

Finally, she agreed to come, just to shut them up. Besides, she was half hoping they were right.

She lifted her head for a moment and looked out across the bar. That's when she saw him, standing by the bar, chatting with the waitress. _Well, hello, tall, buff and handsome,_ she thought. He looked to be at least 6 feet, although he was hunched over a little bit, like he was possibly as uncomfortable with the scene as she was. He was trying to make a good face of it, though. He said something to the waitress, who laughed. He had brown, wavy hair that fell to his shoulders and lay in bangs over his forehead. She thought it would be nice to brush back those bangs. _Kind of cute_ , she thought, and wondered whimsically whether he'd be coming over any time soon.

"Hey, are you going to take that shot, or what?" whined Snark.

"I'm taking it, calm down... I gave you plenty of time to set up."

She looked over and located Tall Guy, who had taken his beer and walked over to the far wall, to another man. This one was shorter by a full 4 or 5 inches, but he looked much more at ease. He leaned against the bar with an almost animalistic grace. His whole body seemed to proclaim "hot stuff", but Sarah didn't pay much attention. Her eyes were drawn to tall, buff and handsome.

Sarah sat back and watched, trying not to look like she was watching. Tall Guy and Hot Stuff were arguing about something now... Tall Guy seemed to point in her direction and the two of them were looking her way. She turned back to make her shot and pretended not to see. Her concentration was off, though, and the three-ball bounced off the side and went right past the hole. Snark smirked. Sarah glared. "Laugh it up now," she said, "You won't be laughing later."

"We'll see, doll." _This guy really needs to be taught a lesson_ , she thought, _and I'm just the one to do it._

She tried to put Tall Guy out of her mind and focused on the game.


	3. Scary Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam tries to channel Dean... and messes up royally!

Sam wandered around the room, one hand in his pockets, one holding his beer. He wondered who to approach first. He had sounded pretty sure of himself, but the truth was, he was feeling out of his depth. It wasn't the idea of approaching a girl. He could talk to girls, no problem - in the classroom, the library... He'd even had friends who were girls when he was in little league soccer, that one year when things had started to feel halfway normal, before they had to move on again to the next hunt... and the next. But to just break into conversation, with no context... Give him a dry, dusty tome over awkward conversation any day. Sam reveled in quick debate and thoughtful discussion, not the one-liners he heard so often from his brother. Talk to a girl cold turkey and get her number? That was more Dean's gig.

Hmm... Maybe that was the ticket. _Think, Sam,_ _what would Dean do?_ Act suave, of course. Come up with some smooth line and flash that killer smile and the girls would eat it up. _Okay, I can act suave._

He thought briefly of going over to that girl playing pool but squashed the idea. She was cute, but she was in the middle of a game, and he really didn't want another guy listening as he made his pitch. He sauntered over to a tall blonde girl in a strapless black dress and sat down next to her.

He struggled to think of something to say. All of a sudden, the lines that had been so quick to come earlier, when he was teasing Dean, were gone. His mind was a complete blank.

 _I know,_ he thought. _I'll compliment her on her hotness._ "So," he began, turning toward the leggy blonde. "You must be the cause of global warming." _No, that wasn't right,_ he thought. He had meant to say, "Is it hot in here, or is it just you?"

She blinked and stared confusedly at Sam. "Huh?" she said. "Are you accusing me of something?"

Sam stuttered... "No, no, I meant that you're hot, and it was a play on the word global _warming_. Although..." he paused, his eyes lighting up as he warmed to his subject. "Really, global warming is caused by excessive carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. The gas causes the heat to get trapped, which makes the temperature rise..."

He would have gone on more, but the girl was standing up and inching away. "I'm awfully sorry," she said, "but I really do have a date with my boyfriend. Ah..." She pointed to some blonde guy off in the corner. "There he is now. Tristan!" She shouted, although the guy in question did not look up.

 _Oh God, that was so bad,_ he thought. He pointedly ignored Dean and the smirk that he was sure was on his face, as he regained his composure and looked for his next target.

X X X

Dean watched as his brother approached the blond at the bar. _So far, so good,_ he thought, when he saw her smile at him. But then Sammy obviously shoved his foot in it somehow because the blond was backing away like he had some kind of disease. _Oh, come on, Sammy._ Dean sighed to himself. _You can do better than that._

_X X X  
_

Sarah was lining up her next shot, the last of her balls to be pocketed, and the setup to the final shot that would put the Snark in his place, when the commotion happening over by the bar attracted her attention. There was Tall Guy again, and some girl was backpeddling away from him like he had the plague. _What had he said to the girl?_ she wondered. She sighed. Well, maybe that famed .06 concentration of alcohol was at work here... or he wasn't as nice as he looked. _Or maybe he's a square peg in a round hole, like you._

_X X X  
_


	4. The Truth Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds out that some pickup lines hit too close to home.

Sam knew he had messed up the pickup line. Worse than that, he had tried to explain it! Explaining a pickup line was like explaining a joke - if it didn't work the first time around, it sure wouldn't after you explained it.

 _Okay,_ he thought, _time to rethink the pickup line._ He sat back down on the barstool and mulled over possible lines.

 _Nice to meet you, I'm Sam, and you are...gorgeous!_ Two blunt...

 _You must be a prizefighter. One look at you, and I'm knocked out._ Um... Too cheesy.

 _Would it freak you out if I said that I've already told my mother about you? (No, why?) Well, I already called her and asked her how to approach you._ God, that just made him look like some weird stalker. He'd run away if someone tried that on him!

 _Guys like me don't get girls like you. Why is that?_ That just made him sound pathetic!

 _So, what do you do for a living besides always making all the men excited and warm all over?_ No. That was very Dean, but it didn't feel like something he'd be comfortable saying.

 _If I could rearrange the alphabet, I'd put U and I together..._ That had promise, but it still felt a little too corny...

He had it! This line would work (he hoped). He set his sights on a brown-haired woman at the end of the bar in an off-the-shoulder top, a pair of hip-hugging jeans and black boots. He put down his beer and walked over to her. "Hey," he said with a smile, "was your daddy a thief?"

"What?" she jumped up nervously. "Who told you?" Her eyes moved evasively, back and forth. As he saw, he realized the truth. The follow-up, "cause he stole the stars and put them in your eyes," died on his lips. He gulped. "Your father really is a thief?" His voice trailed off. _How do I get out of this one?_ he thought.

"What my daddy does is none of your business..." Her face suddenly took on a crafty look. "Say, who sent you? What do you want with me? Did Clancy send you?"

Sam's eyes widened. "No, I don't know any Clancy."

"I know... You must be working for my opponent on the City Council... that corrupt son-of-a-bitch! Is that it? Is he paying you to blackmail me?"

Sam's mouth was gaping, and he didn't know what to say. Before he could get a word in, the woman continued.

"How much is he paying you? I can pay you more..." She reached into her purse, and pulled out a roll of bills, and tried to hand some over to Sam.

Sam pushed them back, "No, lady, I'm not here for your money." He bit his lip as he realized how that sounded. He stuttered, "No," he said, "I didn't mean..."

She stood up and looked up at him, and her face got red. "Well, what did you mean?" Her voice went up on the last note and and she sounded angry. The effect was made somewhat more embarrassing by the snickers Sam heard behind him, as he suddenly realized that a small crowd had gathered.

Sam sighed. "Look, I'm really sorry.. I didn't mean to get personal. I was just trying to pick you up." Even as he said it, he realized how bad that sounded.

She slapped him. "Well next time, choose better lines!" She looked at the crowd. ""Well, don't you have anything better to do?" she said, and walked away in a huff. The snickers got louder and turned into real laughs. Sam put his head in his hands, looked at the grey formica bar, and wished the floor would swallow him up.

X X X  
Dean watched as Sam's next attempt went south. As soon as he saw the girl's reaction to Sam's line, he knew his brother had chosen a lemon. He thought, _What did he say this time?_ It must have hit a raw nerve, because the girl looked very jumpy, then she tried to give him money, then she got angry and slapped him, all in the space of five minutes. Dean winced. That looked like it hurt. But more than that, the crowd that gathered around them made Sam's humiliation complete. _This is just not Sam's night,_ he thought. _What more could my brother do wrong?_

X X X  
Sarah watched as Snark got in a shot, the first ball he'd been able to sink in the course of the game. She wasn't too worried, and as she waited patiently for his next foul-up, she took a moment to look around the room. There was a commotion at the end of the bar closest to her. She saw Tall Guy's head sticking up above a crowd (it was easy to find him, which she kind of liked in a guy). He didn't look like he was doing too well, she noted, as whatever woman he was talking to this time said, "Well, what did you mean?" in a loud voice. She couldn't hear Tall Guy's response, but the resounding slap echoed across the bar. As the crowd laughed out loud, she winced. She was sure whatever was going on here was a misunderstanding, nothing more. She wished she could take him in a warm bear hug.

X X X


	5. Sam, Ladykiller?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finally strikes gold... or does he?

Okay, being slapped took Sam's experience that night to a new low. This would never have happened to Dean.

He sat there for a good five minutes, waiting for the crowd to dissipate and trying to recover from the last experience. He wasn't sure what hurt more, the slap or the humiliation.

At last the crowd had dispersed. He sat up. I have to win this bet, he thought, especially now. And I'm not going to do it by sitting here, moping.

But what line would work for me? he thought. Maybe he should try for something simpler.

How about, "How come I haven't seen you here before?" There was a girl two stools down, who looked like the perfect candidate. But wait... "With my luck, she'll be blind," he muttered quietly.

The girl turned around. "Are you talking to me?" she said, her dark glasses gleaming in the light.

"No," he said, "just talking to myself." At least I didn't go over to her, he thought.

Okay, how about something like, "Hey, how's it going?" or "Do you come here often?" Can't go wrong with that one. Except now he needed someone to approach...

In all his years at school, Sam never imagined he'd be sitting in a bar, trying to solve the equation of which girl would most likely be attracted to him. He could not figure out who to approach. Was it the girl with the big blonde hair standing there in the corner, chatting with some other guy? That hair was like a shield around her head; it was intimidating. Was it the girl with long black hair sitting at the table near the wall, with two other women? The three of them were dressed in slinky dresses, like they were going to a club, and they were talking and laughing. They looked like they were having fun, he thought wistfully, but he didn't feel comfortable intruding on their conversation.

Then he saw her. A tall, lanky brunette, in a red sequined dress. She had just stepped out of the ladies' room and she was walking, with confidence, right by the bar. He gathered up his courage. Time to test out his theory.

He walked over to the girl. "Do you come here often?" he said.

He pushed his curls out of his eyes and gave her one of his most charming smiles and the warm, puppy dog eyes- the look that Dean always said could charm a snake out of its venom.

The girl stopped and looked at him. She smiled. "Well hello, handsome," she purred. He blinked. He could smell the whiskey on her breath. "I don't but I will if you're going to be here."

That line had worked a little too well, thought Sam, as the hot-blooded minx advanced on him, like a cat on the prowl.

Sam found himself moving backwards, trying to get out of her range. "Lady, calm down," he said, his voice a little too loud, "it wasn't that great a line."

The woman moved forward and slid a hand down the front of his shirt, fisting the material by his navel and pulling him against her. "It was the best line I've heard all evening," she purred. "Come here, handsome."

He pinched her fingers to get her to let go and began moving away for her, at a faster clip, with her just a step behind. This woman was really drunk. But she wasn't a monster or a demon, and he didn't want to hurt her. What would make her go away? Dean was right, that must be some killer smile.

X X X

John Winchester parked the truck outside of O'Shaunassy's Watering Hole. It was 9 o'clock, time for his meeting with Harry O'Shaunassy, owner of the bar and an expert in Irish lore and mythology. O'Shaunassy was an old friend of his but this wasn't a social call. There had been some deaths in the area, and John needed confirmation on a possible connection to some old Irish spirits. He was so tired from the hunt he had just finished that he almost missed the Impala parked in the lot.

He stopped for a minute. Was that their Impala? What could his boys be doing here? He started to feel the familiar anger building, the one that always came on him when his boys disobeyed him. Dean was supposed to watch over Sam. He'd better not have taken that boy drinking...

X X X

Dean saw his brother get up and approach another woman - this time a brunette. Go for it, Sammy, he thought. Besides, the sooner his brother actually succeeded at the bet, the sooner he could stop watching over him and go and have some fun of his own. He said something to the girl, smiled.. And yeah, it seemed to work. Finally...

But what the hell? Dean stood away from the wall as he watched his brother running away. Oh hell, he went for a crazy one... Would Sam need a rescue?

Just as he was going to get up to see, he saw another familiar face come in to the bar. Shit, he thought. Now we're really in for it.

X X X

Sarah was about to win the game. The eight ball was in position and she was bending over for her shot, when she heard a familiar voice. "It wasn't that great a line." She turned slightly, only to see Tall Guy running backwards towards her. His broad back hid the woman he was running from (how did she know it was a woman) but then she caught a glimpse of a familiar face. A moment later, Tall Guy slammed into her, causing her cue to scrape the table (damnit, that was a foul!) and the balls to bounce in all directions. The cue dropped from her hands and she fell down next to the pool table with Tall Guy on top of her, his ass pressed up against hers. Which, if she hadn't been miffed about the probable loss of the pool game, would have felt really good.

Tall Guy's face was red as a tomato as he clambered off of her and lifted her up off the floor. "I'm really sorry," he said, "I didn't mean..."

Then a woman that Sarah knew all too well who was standing right behind Tall Guy spoke. "That's okay, honey," she drawled, "We can just make our apologies and you'll take me home." She was leaning on the pool table like she was about to pass out.

"Now wait a minute," Tall Guy was saying, "I never said anything about taking you home..."

Sarah looked from one to the other and blurted out, "Well, Tall Guy, I see you've met my sister."

Oh my God, did I really just call him Tall Guy?


	6. Sisters and Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The whole family's in on it now... actually, both families are... and things get real messy...

Sam's jaw dropped as he looked from the girl he had really been wanting to talk to all night to the one he'd just been running away from.

"Your s-sister?" he stammered. He pushed his hair back from his forehead nervously. The redhead was a bit shorter than her sister and the hair color was different, but the two women shared the same high cheekbones, and heart-shaped face. The redhead, though... she had such pretty, deep blue eyes. Deep as the ocean...

X X X

Shit, Dean thought when he saw Dad coming in the door of the bar. Now we're really in for it.

It wasn't so much his father's anger. He could see that brewing, and he could handle it. It was Sammy. He was so on edge lately, and he really didn't need this shit right now. What with missing his graduation because of another of Dad's hunts... the constant bickering about college... That was exactly why Dean had brought his brother here. To relax, to get away from it all. And now Dad was going to ruin it by piling more shit on.

Well, the hell with that. Not on my watch. His mouth curved up in a smile. Dad's not the only strategist in the family.

X X X

Harry O'Shaunassy swore as he heard the crash by the pool table. He had just gotten that table fixed! It seemed like at least once a week, some heated pool game ended in a tustle that ripped up the table, or broke the cue stick... Maybe he should just get rid of the pool table altogether. Except that one of Harry's vices was a love of pool, and on nights when it was slow, he and his wife liked to wager on the outcome of their games. Those bets had ended with many a pleasant encounter after-hours for the winner... and the loser. So Harry just kept repairing the damage and counted it well worth the cost.

Sighing at the folly of it all, Harry put down the glass he was polishing, signalled to his assistant barman to take over, and, cracking the knuckles on his big-boned hands, prepared to thrash some drunks. Hopefully this would only take a few minutes... John Winchester was due any minute and he really didn't like to keep friends waiting.

X X X

John came in the door, fuming. Those boys of his... he couldn't understand what was getting into them lately. First, Sam was on a rant about college. That wasn't unexpected, really... The boy kept dreaming of a life that he couldn't have. They were in a war, and war demanded sacrifice.

But Dean? Since the tender age of six, when they started their target practice drills, Dean was the one he could count on. He would never have guessed that Dean would go against his wishes.

As John looked around for his boys, he was tapped on the shoulder by a short, blond woman in a green sweater-dress. When he turned around, she held up her glass of bourbon. "Thank you so much for the drink," she said, "I didn't catch your name."

John scowled at her. "What drink?" he said. Because he was turned away, he missed seeing Sam crash into Sarah, and didn't catch Dean walking towards the pool table... though he did wonder about the resounding crash coming from the center of the room.

X X X

The three women sitting at the table in the far corner of the bar were discussing politics, as usual, having given up on the men at the bar tonight. Not one of them had looked promising. Well, thought Beth, the oldest of the three, there was that cute guy in the black leather jacket leaning against the wall... He was kind of hot. But he wasn't really doing much, just sipping a beer and leaning there. More of a wallflower than a player, she guessed. She had put him out of her mind and turned back to the twins sitting next to her.

A few minutes later, a big crash made them jump. "What's going on?" Beth asked. The three women looked over at the pool table.

"Oh my God, is that Sarah on the floor?"

"What happened?"

Beth and her sisters jumped up, their high heels clicking as they ran across the room. It was only then that they realized that it was taking their other sister an awfully long time to come back from the bathroom.

X X X

All night Dean had watched Sam sinking like the Titanic. Women fled from his brother, they berated and slapped him, and chased him across the bar. But nothing prepared Dean for Sam's massive collision with the cute redhead at the pool table. All at once, the entire series of screw-ups was too much. Dean started to snicker. He covered his mouth, he tried to hold it in, but damn it, even for Sam, this was colossal. He broke into side-splitting laughter. Some of the people near him were staring.

When Dean was able to stop laughing, he shook himself and started moving forward again. What was he doing? He had already set in motion a plan to help them escape from the biggest iceberg of all - his father - but they really needed to hurry. It was time to pick Sammy up off the floor and escape.

X X X

Sam's musings on the redhead's blue eyes were cut short by a rough, familiar voice. "And did you just call him Tall Guy?" Sam groaned inwardly as he turned around to see his brother, just arriving, Dean's familiar smirk on his face. But the smirk didn't stay there long... Dean looked a bit nervous as he pulled Sam aside. "Listen, Sam, we have got to get out of here. Dad's here!"

"Dad's here?" Sam's eyes went wide.

X X X

Rufus McInty, known to Sarah as Snark, watched in amazement as the tall hulking guy collided with the hot babe he'd been playing. When her cue stick scraped the pool table, the feeling of relief was intense. He didn't want to admit it, but he'd been worried that he was going to lose... Hell, he was losing. But the scraping of the table was an automatic foul and a loss to the babe. Which was good, cause there was no way he was losing to a woman.

Still, he thought, I'm sure she won't concede defeat without a fight. Feisty little number that she was. But she and that tall guy looked to be involved. A crowd was gathering out of curiosity and no one had noticed him. He pocketed the hundred from the table and slipped away into the crowd.

X X X

Beth and her sisters arrived at the pool table in time to see a guy just a little bit taller than Beth help her sister up. Fran was leaning against the pool table and didn't look too good. Then all at once the cute guy with the leather jacket that Beth had noticed earlier came running over. After some weird remark to Sarah that went right over Beth's head, he pulled the tall guy aside.

"Listen, Sam, we have got to get out of here. Dad's here!" Beth heard him say.

The tall guy (Sam) seemed upset. "Dad's here?"

Beth had had enough. "Now wait a minute!" she shouted. "Nobody's leaving until someone tells me what's going on!"

"I could ask you the same thing," said the guy with the leather jacket. He pointed to Fran. "This crazy woman attacked my brother. She could have killed him!"

"No she couldn't!" protested Sam, glaring at his brother. What kind of a wuss did they think he was?

"No one calls my sister crazy!" said Beth. She was almost shouting. "Take back those words, mister." She stepped right up to the leather jacket guy and glared down at him.

Dean looked at the woman who was backing up her sister even in the face of insanity and smiled. He could admire that. But there was really no time for this now. He turned to Sam.

"Look," said Dean, urgently. "We have to get out of here. I distracted Dad, but it's not going to last that long." Dean pointed back at the bar, where a woman in a scoop-necked sweater dress was leaning up against John Winchester and flirting with him. He scowled at her and seemed to be trying to push her away.

"I told the bartender to buy her a drink and tell her it was from Dad. That should buy us a few minutes. Let's beat it!"

"Now wait a minute, Dean, I can't go," Sam protested. "I just ruined this lady's game... I have to make it up to her."

"Oh my god, the game!" yelped Sarah... "I completely forgot about it." She looked over the pool table, but the $100 - and Snark - were both gone.

Sam looked over the crowd that had gathered behind the pool table and pointed. "Say, isn't that the guy you were playing?" The guy was clutching a sheaf of bills and running away.

"Stop, thief!" yelled Sarah.

"I'll get him!" shouted Sam, and took off at a run.

X X X X


	7. The Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What story would be complete without a chase scene? 'Nuff said!

Sarah was all set to run after Snark when Tall Guy ( _Sam,_ _his_ _brother_ _called_ _him_ _Sam_ , she reminded herself) beat her to it. He zipped off, weaving around the pool table and between the crowd that was milling around in the aftermath. _He_ _'_ _s_ _unreal,_ she thought, ogling his tall frame for a moment as he weaved in and out of the crowd, like a ballet dancer doing some fancy choreography... or like a martial artist in a fight who could evade the traps and obstacles in his way. _That_ _man_ _can_ _move_ _when_ _he_ _wants_ _to._ This agile Sam didn't mesh with the awkward Sam she had seen earlier. It was as if they were two different people.

 _And_ _at_ _the_ _rate_ _he_ _'_ _s_ _going,_ she thought, _I_ _'_ _ll_ _be_ _left_ _behind._ "Wait for me!" she shouted, and ran after him. She wanted a piece of that action.

X X X

Dean watched Sam run off, with the redhead running after him. "Son of a bitch!" he swore. So much for getting out of here.

Beth laughed. "He seems like a handful, your younger brother," she said. She held out her hand to Dean. "Beth McLaughlin."

Dean looked over at Beth and took her hand. "Dean Winchester," he said. "You look like you have your own plate full, taking care of your sisters. Want to go back to my place later and share war stories?" He smiled at her, one of his heart-stopping grins.

Beth laughed. She tossed back her black hair, her hazel eyes shining with mirth. The man was radiating pure sexuality. It turned her on, but no way was she going to tell him that.

"Sorry, but I'm going to have other things to do. Like taking care of Fran, who's obviously had one dozen too many. Besides, I think four sisters trumps one brother, no matter how like a little lost puppy he is." She sent him an arrogant smile.

He dropped her hand like it was contaminated. "He is not!" He protested. "He's more like a..."

"Klutzy teddy bear? Jumpy mouse?"

Dean glared at Beth. "Lady, if you think seeing my brother for half an hour in a bar makes you an expert..." said Dean. "He's much more than he seems, so just shut your trap."

She sucked in her breath. "Hit a nerve, didn't I? But you know what, I deserved that."

She was about to say more when there was a loud thump on the other side of the room, like a fast runner slamming into an immovable object, and a loud voice with a thick Irish brogue shouted, "Hey, watch yurselves! What are ye lot doing, wreakin' havoc in my bar?"

A moment later, the clear tones of John Winchester echoed across the bar.

"Sam? What the hell are you up to?"

X X X

Sam was sprinting through the crowd, and he had almost caught up with the thief. He grabbed hold of the back of his shirt when the thief ran right up against a brick wall. Of course, he couldn't stop in time and ran right up against the thief - and then the girl he'd knocked down earlier ran right up against him.

Well, it wasn't really a brick wall - he could tell it was actually a guy maybe three inches shorter than him (about Dean's height or a little taller) because he could see the guy's curly black hair when he looked down. But the guy was solid; Sam felt the thud of the impact in his bones. And there they were, one big human sandwich, the curly-haired guy, the thief, him and the cute redhead... Sam felt like a piece of melted cheddar cheese, kind of wilted and stale.

"Why am I always the cheese?" he groaned.

Then a big meaty hand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. And the solid wall spoke.

"Hey, watch yurselves! What are ye lot doing, wreakin' havoc in my bar?"

Those words did not make Sam afraid... it was the words that came after, said in that authoritarian voice Sam knew so well, that made his back stiffen.

"Sam? What the hell are you up to?"

X X X X


	8. Fran Gripped Him Tight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds out that he's irresistible...

Harry O'Shaunassy goggled at the two rabble-rousers who were running so wildly through his bar. Did they have something to do with that loud crash by the pool table? He wouldn't put it past 'em. The tall one (Harry had to look up to him, and at Harry's six-foot height, that was saying a lot) was grabbing hold of the shorter one, who looked a bit weaselly - ferret shaped face, shifty eyes - when both of them smacked into him like a runaway freight train. And then a pretty girl - Harry's eyes widened when he saw who it was - smacked into all three of them.

He grabbed both troublemakers by the collar and yelled, "Hey, watch yurselves! What are ye lot doing, wreakin' havoc in my bar?"

He was about to go on, and demand a good accounting (maybe he should set Molly on 'em, she could be fierce, but she was upstairs mindin' the little ones) when he heard a deep, gravelly voice echoing through the bar. The man sounded angry.

"Sam? What the hell are you up to?"

Harry broke into a grin. It had been four years, but he'd know that voice anywhere. _Now_ _they_ _'_ _d_ _get_ _to_ _the_ _bottom_ _of_ _this_ _mess!_ _John_ _Winchester_ _didn_ _'_ _t_ _stand_ _for_ _any_ _nonsense,_ _tha_ _'_ _s_ _for_ _sure._

"John!" Harry called out, turning towards the man, who was coming out from the bar, "Are these troublemakers yours?"

"I don't know the weasel-face," said John.

"Hey!" yelled Snark, "no one calls me weasel-face and gets away with it!"

John ignored him. "But yes, the tall one's my son, Sam. And he's got a lot to explain." His face was hard, the eyes cold and distant.

"Now wait a minute, Dad," protested Sam. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"No, he didn't," said Sarah. She had stepped back from the human sandwich and was busy smoothing her dress. She put her hands on her hips. "This man stole from me and Sam was helping me catch him."

"Sarah McLaughlin," Harry sounded bewildered and bemused, "What are ye doin' mixed up in all o' this?"

 _Ah_ , thought Sam, _at_ _last_ _…_ _a_ _name!_

Snark finally piped up. "Hey," he whined, "This woman is crazy! I didn't do nothin'! Put me down!"

"That's not true!" protested Sam. "You ran away with Sarah's money!"

"Her pool cue scraped the table. That's a foul and an automatic win for me." Snark sneered.

At that moment, Dean and Beth ran up, followed closely by Beth's twin sisters trying to hold back their inebriated sibling, who had just gotten a second wind. She focused on Sam, zeroing in as if guided by laser beams.

Sam's eyes widened as he saw the redhead's ( _no_ , he amended in his head, _Sarah_ _'_ _s)_ sister coming toward him like a torpedo. She was moving fast for someone so drunk. Before the others could stop her, she had wrapped her body around his in a great bear hug. Sam's skin tone turned fire engine red.

"Where did you go?" she wailed. "You were going to take me home."

"What?" John's voice rang out. He sounded indignant.

"I never said anything like that, Dad... Believe me!"

Dean smirked. He couldn't help it, the line just slipped out. "Way to go, Sammy. Didn't know you had it in you!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean," he groaned. "Come on, man. You're not helping."

Harry looked at Fran with concern, "Fran, how many beers have you had tonight?"

Beth stepped forward and tried to pull her sister off of Sam. "I'm sorry," she said to him. "Fran's usually not this bad. She must've had more to drink than we realized."

Sarah joined in, tugging on Fran's arms. "Come on, sis," she coaxed. "You can't hug Sam all night."

"Why not?" Fran's words were slurred and her eyes were bloodshot.

Sarah almost said "because the man's mine" but bit the words back before they could come out. _Jumping_ _the_ _gun_ _a_ _bit,_ _aren_ _'_ _t_ _you?_ she thought. Chloe, one of the twins, moved forward to help her sisters. All three of them tried, but Fran was really gripping Sam tightly.

Sam didn't know what to do with his hands. Should he push the woman away or try to free himself from the guy holding him? "Look, Dad, get this guy to put me down, and I can explain," he said.

John looked over at Dean. His whole body was still, rigid, but his eyes blazed fire. "And you, Dean... you've got a lot to answer for... I hold you responsible for this whole mess!"

"Why?" asked Beth, curiously. She looked up for a minute. The man's reaction seemed a bit extreme. "What, are you against drinking, or picking women up at bars?"

"I'm against being shanghaied by women who've been told I bought them a drink!" he said, fuming. "Don't think I don't know who engineered that diversion, Dean."

Dean felt his anger rise. "Come on, Dad," he said. "It's not like you gave me much choice. I knew how you'd react to finding us here... Sam's not a child. Don't treat him like one!"

Harry interrupted. "Are you sure you boys want to have this argument here?"

Fran lifted up her head and turned to John. "Yeah, you m.. meany. Be nice to S.. Sam..." She suddenly pulled away from Sam, swaying on her feet. Her sisters, who were still tugging on her arms, were caught off balance and almost fell. She wrenched away from them, stumbled over to John, and tried to slap him, but he caught her hand in a fierce grip. For a moment, it looked like he was going to throw her, but he stopped himself. She stood there, caught in his grip.

John's face remained stiff and unyielding, and a stranger might have thought that he wasn't fazed at all. But Dean could read his Dad like a book, a habit born of collaboration, survival and a deep love that Dean would never admit to. John was taken aback. Nobody got away with slapping him. But this woman was a civilian, heavily under the influence. Fighting with an inebriated woman in a bar didn't fit John's image of the hunter; it was not in his mission statement.

"Fran!" yelled Beth, and tugged at her sister. John let go. Beth glared at him.

At this, the brothers and sisters all started talking, protesting, arguing. Beth began to argue with John, Sarah and Sam were arguing with Snark, Dean was interceding for Beth... The noise level was bedlam, the effect was like the Tower of Babel. Beth was still fussing over Fran, and Harry was looking from one participant to the other while still maintaining his grip on Sam and Snark.

"Are you people daft?"

A hearty voice bellowed through the bar. It was feminine but deeper than most women's voices, and it gave Sam the image of those women who, in wartime, would roll up their sleeves and load the cannonballs while their husbands shot at the enemy. And the woman who rounded on Harry certainly fit that image. Her greying brown hair, cut to the shoulders, framed a square face, with high cheekbones and a pert nose. Her green eyes flashed with anger. Sam could imagine this woman facing off against any enemy... and he'd bet his last nickel she'd come out on top.

She stood there with her hands on her hips. They had all stopped arguing and were looking at her.

"Harry Patrick O'Shaunassy." Her voice was pitched not much lower than the bellow she had used when she first came in. "What are ye thinkin', to allow such a hullabaloo? There are bairns upstairs sleepin'!"

"Now, Molly..." Harry's soft voice did not seem to calm her down.

"I mean, the bar's usually noisy, but you people are beyond! If ye wake the babes up... "

"Molly?"

She stopped. "Yes, Harry?"

He spoke softly. "Love, ye were louder than all o' us put together."

"Well!" She snorted, a blush creeping up her neck, but her voice dropped about 10 decibels. "Ye can bet there'll be no pool game tonight, if that's yur attitude."

Harry sighed. "There may not be a pool game anyway."

"Wha'? Wha' happened to the pool table?" Her voice had a resigned note in it, like one who'd been through the same thing so many times, it was as regular as the sun rising.

"Well, that's what I was tryin' to find out... But yur right, Mol. It's time t' get this whole thing settled." Harry looked at John. "Tell you what, John, there's a lot t' sort out here. What's say we take this lot over to the pool table - the scene of the crime, so t' speak - and figure out what's goin' on? And when we've put this t' bed, we can go and have our own talk?"

John nodded. "Whatever it takes," he said. "I just want to get my boys home." He put a special emphasis on the word _home_.

Harry said, "And Beth - y'got Fran, or do ye need some help?"

"No, I'm all right."

"Good."

He set down Sam and Snark. "All right, people, follow me! Let's clean up this mess." The whole group trooped over to the pool table, pursuing justice... Harry O'Shaunassy style.

X X X X


	9. Snark Gets His

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every villain must have his comeuppance... and Sam shows his heroic colors!

Harry O'Shaunassy, owner, manager, let-you-sob-on-his-shoulder bartender, resident tall tale teller and de facto father figure at O'Shaunassy's Watering Hole, led the troop of siblings, one pissed-off but resigned dad, and a sniveling Snark to the pool table. He smiled and his brown eyes twinkled; it wasn't often he actually got to hold court at the bar.

Molly O'Shaunassy, walking alongside her husband, got to the pool table first. She gave a gasp of horror. The mob that followed her leaned over her shoulder, from her reaction expecting to see the table broken, perhaps with a large tear in the top covering.

Instead, they saw a small crack in the edging by the side rail, where Sam and Sarah had fallen against it. One of the cue sticks was laying on the table, and some of the balls were lying on the floor, scattered.

"Molly, love," Harry put his arms around her. "It isn't too bad, is't? Just a cracked rim. Why, we could still use it for a game later this evening. From the sounds of tha' crash, I expected worse."

Molly ran her hands over the edging that had cracked, almost tenderly. There was an edge in her voice as she whispered, "Mi poor babe... Mi wee bairn..."

"Did she just call the pool table her baby?" Dean asked. "I mean, it's just a pool table."

"Yeah," Sam snickered, "like the Impala is just a car."

"Shut your trap," said Dean. "The Impala is..." He was at a loss for words. "Come on, this is just a pool table."

Beth elbowed Dean. "Shh, you two," she said, "You don't ever make fun of that pool table in front of Molly. She put her blood, sweat and tears into it."

Harry was rubbing his wife's shoulders soothingly. "C'mon, Mol, we've fixed worse'n this. It won't take that much to get some replacement edging and glue it in. And look, the crack is only on the outer edge of the side rail, not on the inner side. We can still play!"

Molly's shoulders stiffened and she glared at her husband. "Ye mean _I_ _'_ _ve_ fixed worse than this..." She turned around and glared at the others. "What I want t'know is, who's responsible? Who harmed my baby? I'll tear him limb from limb."

"Now, Molly," said Harry. "Come on..."

Dean whispered to Sam, "Come on, I don't get all psycho like that over Baby..."

Sam whispered back, "Remember when I spilled some soda on Baby's back seat? I distinctly remember you threatening to murder me?"

"That was different," Dean whispered. "Those seats are real leather, they don't make 'em like that anymore... Besides, you knew I wouldn't actually kill you," said Dean, shaking his head at Sam. "Maybe break a few bones," he added under his breath as he turned back to watch Molly continue her inspection of the pool table.

In putting his arms around his wife, Harry all but forgot about Snark, who was slipping away again, until John collared him.

"Come back here," he snapped. "Harry... I think we need to move things along."

"Right... Well, ye lot," said Harry, "Pull up some chairs from the side there and gather round th' table."

He pulled Snark aside. "I understand ye have some money that we're not sure belongs to you," he said. "Please hand it over."

Snark protested. "It's mine, fairly won."

"That may be so, but we've yet to determine that," said Harry. He folded his arms and looked thunderously at Snark. "When we've cleared ye of the charge - if yur cleared - you'll be free t' take yur winnings and go home."

By now, everyone else had taken seats, sitting in a semi-circle around the pool table. Someone pulled up a seat for Harry and moved it right in front of the table. He nodded his head. "Thanks." He turned to Snark. "Well, Mr., you can get yourself a seat as well, once ye hand over the money."

Snark sighed. Everyone in the circle was looking at him, and he didn't see how he could get away. He handed over the money, grabbed a seat from the corner, and deliberately moved his chair at least two feet away from Sarah, who was sitting at the far edge of the crowd.

"My wife asked who was responsible f'r th' damage t' the table. I'm not goin' t' tear the culprit limb from limb, but I'd like to know what happened here."

Sam, Sarah, Dean and Beth all started to speak at once. Their words ran right into each other and none of the company could hear what any of them were saying.

"One at a time," said Harry. "You first... Sam, isn't it?"

"Well," Sam said, "It was my fault. I've always been a bit of a klutz and I didn't see where I was going. I banged right into Sarah, and smashed into the pool table."

"Oh, nonsense!" said Sarah, sounding rather irked. "A klutz wouldn't have been able to run after Snark here and catch him! Besides... it was my sister who was chasing you and that's the only reason you banged into me."

Molly was watching the two of them and listening closely. Her forehead, which had been furrowed with anger before, had begun to soften.

Next to Molly, near Harry, John was sitting impassively. His face was a complete mask. Not even Dean could see the inner struggle the man was having not to smile. He could remember Sam, as a kid, still growing into his height, running into things, routinely overturning things like lamps on the motel room coffee tables or water pitchers left out on the table. No wonder they had left him at the libraries to research; it was far safer for all of them.

Sam was oblivious to his dad's conflict, too caught up in what Sarah was saying. "Snark?" asked Sam quizzically. He looked over at the weasel-faced thief he'd been chasing. "Your name is Snark?"

"It most certainly is not!" huffed the man, whose skin seemed to have become a rather unattractive, blotchy red. "My name's Rufus McInty, and that... _lady_ ," he said with a sneer, nodding at Sarah, "is a bitch!"

"Why you..." Sam stood up but Beth was ahead of him. She leapt up and walked across the circle to Snark. She grabbed him by his shirt front and pulled him up so that her face was right in his. "My sister invents nicknames for everybody, and in this case, she was way too kind! She would have done better with putz!"

"How about douchebag?" said Sam.

"Schmuck?" quipped Dean.

Molly was looking wildly between the three of them and Snark. Her eyes had begun to sparkle again and her mouth was turning up in a grin. "Gobshite would be more like it," she said.

"Molly!" Harry sounded horrified. He stood up, hands on his hips. "Everybody, sit down and shut up, and Beth, quit manhandlin' the man." He glared at them. "I'll have ye be civil t' one another, even if ye don't like each other!"

Beth dropped Snark back in his chair, who smoothed down his shirt front and humphed, a note of triumph in his voice. He smiled gleefully.

"That includes ye too, Mr. McGinty. The word ye used does not belong here."

Harry continued. "So if I'm t'understand this, Sam crashed into Sarah and the table cause he was runnin' from Fran?"

"Fran was chasing him," said Sarah.

"And why were you chasin' him, Fran?"

Fran hiccuped. "He came on to me... 'n who cud resist him, the... big honey bear?"

Dean smirked. "Big Honey bear, huh?"

"Shut up," said Sam. He was turning red again. "Or maybe should I call you the panty man?"

Dean paled, his mouth gaping open. He seemed unable to close it. _How did he know?_

"So really it was Fran's fault. But Fran was drunk so it's the... beer's fault?" Harry sounded bemused.

"That's it, Harry, we should make you pay for the repairs," said Molly. She started to laugh, and the lilt in her words got deeper. "Th' faults in the brew! Down with O'Shaunassy's best."

"Well, actually," Dean cleared his throat. "It was all my fault, really."

"Your fault? What did you have to do with it?" asked Chloe.

"I'm the one who put Sam up to all of this," he waved his hand at the bar. "I knew he needed to relax... I'm the one who brought him here. And if the big honey bear hadn't turned his killer smile on Fran..."

Sam's face was now almost a deep maroon. "Pink, satin panties, Dean... You know you want 'em."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "My God, do you two ever stop?"

"No," Sam and Dean said in unison. Then the corners of their mouths twitched and the two of them started to laugh.

At this point, Molly could not keep quiet. Her shoulders began shaking, her grey-brown hair bobbing up and down. There were tears in her eyes. She sat and laughed, big, loud guffaws that echoed through the bar and caused the patrons throughout to look in their direction curiously.

This caused Sam and Dean to break up even more. It was as if the boys were making up for all the piled-up tension, for the nightly fights between Sam and John, for the nerves frayed by endless hunts and bleak hotel rooms. The laughter rolled back and forth between the two of them, and between Molly. Soon everyone found themselves joining in. The only one who was not affected at all was John, who sat somewhat stiffly, as if he couldn't quite let himself go, and Snark, who looked as if he were eating rotten fish.

When the group had gotten the laughter under control, and she could finally speak again, Beth shook her head. "Dean, you don't have to take responsibility for my sister's actions." She looked at Harry. "Whatever the damage is, we'll pay."

Sam said, "No, I'll pay. After all, I'm the one who crashed into Sarah and caused the damage."

A flicker of surprise flashed in John's eyes, briefly. _Maybe the boy was starting to learn some responsibility,_ he thought. He cleared his throat. "No," he said, "I'll pay. Sam's my son, and it was an accident, but we Winchesters clean up after ourselves."

"Tha's kind of ye, John," said Harry. "But really, there's no need. Th' damage is slight, and it's been established tha' what happened here was really a series of freak accidents." He smiled. "Besides which, yon lot brought a smile to mi Molly's face. That's worth everythin' t' me."

"That's great, man," whined Snark, "but I've been waiting here through all your craziness, and I'd like to leave with my money. Can we get on with this?"

"You mean _my_ money," said Sarah.

"Okay," said Harry, "Let's talk about th' pool game. What happened there?"

"Hey," said Snark, in a whiny voice, "Her pool cue scraped the table. That's a foul and an automatic win for me."

"Now wait a minute," said Sarah, "even if the pool cue scraped the table, at most that's a foul, not an automatic win. Then the turn would go to Sn... _him_ and the game would go on."

"Well, th' balls bouncing off the table be another foul, besides," said Harry, "and maybe the game is over because the position of the balls ha' been lost. But the question o' whether the game goes t' him because twas her move tha' caused it..."

"That's not fair," said Sam. "The game wouldn't have been upset if I hadn't crashed into her. Isn't that outside interference?" He turned to his father. "Dad, is he right? He can't just take the money, can he?"

His father looked thoughtful. "I don't know, son."

"But if there was outside interference," Dean pointed out, "they might just call for a rematch."

"That's fair," said Chloe. She turned to Snark. "You should play a second game to decide."

"Or," said her twin, "since the game was ruined, you could split the money fifty-fifty."

"I refuse!" shouted Snark. "I don't do rematches with women." There was a sneer in his voice on the word "women". "And I won't split the money," he said. "I would have won it in the next turn." He sent a nasty look Sarah's way.

"Now wait a minute, you creep!" Sarah said, "I was about to win the game. By rights, I should get all of the money."

"Besides which," said Harry, "if ye honestly won that money, why did ye try to run away?"

"Twice!" said Dean.

Sam looked furious. "If you won't play a rematch with Sarah, play it with me. Since I was the one that interrupted your game, I claim the right."

Dean looked at his brother. Damned if his brother didn't remind him of the upstart musketeer wanna-be from that pansy Disney movie Sam had made him watch... what was his name? Right... D'art... something or other.

Sarah stood up, fists clenched. "Now wait a minute!" she said, "Really, Sam, I appreciate the chivalry but I can defend myself." She stared at Snark nastily. "Or are you afraid to play a woman?"

"I'm not afraid! Bring it on, _babe_..." Snark said with a sneer.

"Well, it looks like this is settled, then," said Harry, "The winner will get the full $100... unless Sn.. McGinty here backs out now, in which case it's split 50/50. This is your last chance, Rufus. What will it be?" _What_ _an_ _unpleasant_ _man,_ he thought.

"I won't back down," said Snark.

Everyone settled in to watch the pool game, even John, who was, by the time, too curious to see who would win. Fran was slumped down in one of the chairs sipping a glass of water that Dean had gotten her. ("No scotch for you," he said.) He was sitting in a chair next to Beth, talking quietly.

Sam was standing behind Sarah, watching, as she made the breaking shot. From the first, he could see she was a masterful player. Really, he thought, there was no contest. He liked watching her as she concentrated on the ball, called her shots, and sent her balls spinning in the proper angles, pocketing them one, sometimes two, at a time. She was already on her third successful shot when he got impatient. This wasn't where he wanted to be; maybe he could speed the process up.

"Hey Snarky," he said, "You look a little nervous. Afraid you'll lose?"

And the guy really was nervous. He was tapping his fingers against the pool table. There was sweat on his forehead.

"Of course not," Snark said. "And the name's McGinty."

"Right... well, you picked the wrong lady to steal from," Sam said. "She's a master... Hey, Sarah!"

"Hmm?" she looked up.

"How about the Loop de Loop shot on the 6 ball in the right corner pocket?" He pushed his hair off his forehead and he looked at her seriously but his brown eyes were twinkling.

 _What_ _the..._ she thought until she saw Snark nervously examining the board. _Why_ _not?_ she thought. "Hmm... " she studied the board seriously. "You mean where you have the 6 ball hitting off the green stripe over there, then the blue stripe over there, kind of looping around the 3 until it hits the corner pocket?"

"Yeah..." said Sam.

"Now hold on," whined Snark. "That's not even..."

"Possible, but I think the Crazy Nine might work better here."

"What are you two talking about?" The conversation was driving Snark crazy. It was bad enough he was playing the bitch again, but to have to listen to this complete garbage? "Tell them to stop this!" he demanded to Harry.

"It's a free country," he said. "They're just talking."

"But he's helping her!" argued Snark.

"Too much chance of you hitting the eight-ball in that pocket. Look how close the nine is to the eight. How about the Zig-Zag Zoomer?" asked Sam.

"I don't know," admitted Sarah. "There are so many shots here that I could take, Sam, it's hard to decide."

"I don't think any of these shots even exist!" yelled Snark.

"Prove it," said Sam.

"I've had enough," said Snark. "You're all cheaters. You can have the money - waste someone else's time!"

He threw down his cue stick and stalked away.

The McLaughlin women cheered.

"Well, good riddance to bad garbage!" said Harry.

Dean looked at Sam. "Zig-Zag Zoomer?"

John laughed. "Crazy Nine?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe we just know some exotic pool moves."

"Son, I've been playing pool for years now, and I've never heard of the Crazy Nine."

"Hey, what a man doesn't know..." Sam began.

"Can always hurt him," finished John.

"Rule number 54," said Dean. "You called it right, Dad."

Chloe looked at the three Winchesters. "Rule number 54?"

Beth sighed. "I'm afraid to ask."

"It's hard to explain," said Dean. "Let's just say it's a page from Dad's rulebook."

"And now," said Sam, "The lady gets her winnings." He looked at Harry. "May I?"

Harry took the $100 out of his pocket and gave it to Sam. "Here, son, I think you've earned the privelige."

"Here you go, my lady," said Sam, a silly grin plastered across his face. "I believe this money is yours." He handed the $100 to Sarah.

"Thank you, kind sir," she curtsied and laughed, slipping the money into her pocket. "You know, I was going to win. You didn't have to do that."

"Oh, I know," said Sam, "We all knew. But I figured, Snark's been playing pool with you all night. Why should he have all the fun?"

He looked at her, his hazel eyes pleading for her acquiescence. "After all," he said, "wouldn't you rather play with me?"

She smiled. "Who could say no to those eyes?" she said. She handed him a cue stick. "Come on, let's shoot to see who gets the break shot."

X X X X


	10. Tough Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's hard to hear the truth.

John almost smiled at Sam and Sarah's banter. They seemed very sweet together, although there really was no future in the relationship. At least not till the thing that killed Mary was dead.

And deep inside him, a voice spoke up - a voice that he'd been hearing for years, in the sweet tones of his wife. Was it Mary's memory still living in him or his conscience? He couldn't say. _It_ _'_ _s_ _taken_ _you_ _almost_ _19_ _years_ , the voice whispered. _If_ _it_ _takes_ _you_ _19_ _more,_ _does_ _that_ _mean_ _Sam_ _can_ _'_ _t_ _ever_ _date_ _or_ _get_ _married?_ He stilled the voice from force of habit. He wasn't yet ready to deal with that question.

But he really hadn't noticed the changes in Sam. Why, the boy was turning from a gawky teenager to someone more polished, more... adult.

"Well this has been... unexpected," said John, "and I still have a lot to say to you boys but if this whole business is over, I've got a meeting I'd like to get to." He looked at his watch. It was already 10:00, a full hour later than the scheduled time.

"Good idea," said Harry. "Come, let's get t' th' office. Mol-"

"I hear you, Harry, don't have t' tell me twice. " She smiled. "Snacks comin' up - Have t' check on the bairns as well. Y'll have 'em in a jiff."

And she bustled away, her short grey hair bobbing as she weaved expertly through the bar, heading towards the stairs on the side.

X X X

Harry ushered John into a small, panelled room at the back of the bar. The desk that was there filled half the room, but the whole of the back wall was taken up with bookcases. And the contents of the bookcases were eclectic, to say the least. _The_ _Voyage_ _of_ _Bran,_ an old, leather-bound copy, shared shelf space with _A_ _Book_ _of_ _Saints_ _and_ _Wonders_ and with the much more modern _A_ _Treasury_ _of_ _Irish_ _Myth,_ _Legend_ _and_ _Folklore:_ _Fairy_ _and_ _Folk_ _Tales_ _of_ _the_ _Irish_ _Peasantry._ John also saw books on history, such as the classic _The_ _History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_ , books on weaponry, fashion, art, and even a small section on media and the internet, including Scott McCloud's _Understanding_ _Comics_ , which Sam had been raving about recently.

Harry noticed him staring at the books. "Do ye remember mi book collection from last time, John?"

John smiled. "As I recall, we didn't have much time for something as mundane as books last time we met, Harry."

"Aye, John. 'Twas a good thing ye were around. Ye saved mi life, mi family... and mi business." At that moment, there was a knock at the door. Molly entered with a tray of freshly-baked cookies and cakes, and a pitcher of iced tea. There was also a glass of Guiness for Harry and a beer for John.

The aroma of Molly's cakes filled the room. John stared at her in awe. It had been 20 minutes since she had left them, not enough time to get all this done.

"How...?" He started to ask, and she laughed.

"Why, didn't you know, we Irish have special super baking powers?" When he continued to stare, she smiled. "No, don't take on so, John, I was just kidding. Special VIP service for you. We knew you were coming so I baked all this a bit earlier and kept it warm in the oven."

Harry chuckled. "Sometimes it's not magic, ey?" He patted his wife's hand. "But tha's not true. Mi Molly's baking - that _is_ magic."

"Please," Molly said, "Help yourself. I wasn't sure if you'd want a beer or not, so I brought one just in case." John noticed that her accent was much less noticeable when she wasn't so upset. She set the tray on Harry's desk, gave him a quick kiss, and left.

John smiled as he took a piece of cake and a sip of his beer. "You're a lucky man, Harry." There was an almost wistful quality to his voice, as of half-remembered joy.

"Thank ye kindly," said Harry. "Yur lucky yurself, t' have two fine boys."

"Thank you," said John.

"And they look out f'r each other," Harry said. "Ye've raised them well."

John's smile cracked the face that was usually still as granite.

The two men sat and ate for a few minutes. Harry sat looking at John intently, as if thinking whether to say what was on his mind.

Harry said, "John, ye know I'm yur friend, right?"

"That's a strange question," said John. "Of course."

"As yur friend, I've been wantin' t' say somethin' t' you, but I want ye to take it as I mean it - not t' harm ye, but t' help."

John frowned. "What are you dancing around, Harry?," John said.

"I can tell f'r all yur blusterin', yur proud of 'em."

John looked at Harry. He sighed. "Yes," he admitted, "I suppose I am. Sometimes, they surprise me."

"That Sam, he's a firecracker," said Harry.

John smiled wryly. "He is at that. Harry, what's this about?"

Harry sighed. "Far be it f'r me t'tell ye how to raise yur boys."

"But you're going to tell me anyway." An edge had crept into John's voice and the smile had left his face.

"John, I can see how tired ye are. I know what ye and yur boys do."

"I'm no more tired than usual," John protested.

"John, you look dead on yur feet! And yur boys, they came here t'get away."

"They shouldn't be here," he started, then stopped abruptly. It wouldn't do to admit to the owner of the bar that one of his boys was underage.

"John, ye don't have to pretend.. I know how old Sam is."

"Then why..."

"I don't normally sanction underage drinkin'. And this conversation never happened," said Harry.

"So..."

"I was watchin' Sam... I'm a good judge of how much drink a man's had. And Sam's not had more than one drink all night, or I'm not Harry O'Shaunassy."

John's face revealed no reaction, but his shoulders were stiff, and his fist was clenched around his beer.

"John, ye're sending these boys out t'do a man's job. Th' boys need an outlet now and then. And hunters don't drink tea."

John sat like a statue. Harry put his hand on his shoulder, which was almost vibrating with tension. "Ye can't push them so hard. They're boys, not warriors."

John pushed Harry's hand off. His voice was tense and sharp as a knife. "You don't understand, Harry... We _are_ at war."

"Then this thing... it's still comin' after ye?"

"It's been quieter lately but... there have been times. It hasn't lost interest, Harry. And..."

"What?"

"It came after Sam. Several times."

"Oh." Harry sighed. "Does Sam know?"

"I don't know what he remembers. I never spoke to him about it."

Harry sighed. "Ye need help, John."

"I can take care of my own." His eyes flashed, daring his friend to disagree that he wasn't capable of protecting his family.

"I'm sure ye can... but if ye continue pushing yurself and th' boys, ye'll make mistakes, John. And mistakes can be deadly. Will it help ye win the war if ye or yur boys're dead?"

The two men just sat there looking at each other. John's face was a hard mask but his eyes had gotten softer, sadder, at the thought of his boys dead. He sighed.

"Do you really think we're that bad?"

"John, ye be the walkin' dead, man!"

He laughed shortly, a bitter sound. "Well, that's nothing new... But still... If you think the boys need it..."

"I do, John. Even a few hours would help - some time off t'recharge."

The silence stretched between them, and neither knew what to say. It was Harry that broke it.

"I'm a terrible host, John.. I'm so sorry t' have made ye mad. Come, forgive me f'r bein' too pushy and let's talk about the pattern ye noticed and see if it's what ye thought..."

With that, the subject was dropped, and the two men got lost in conversation about times and killings and signs of the supernatural. John slowly relaxed as he put away thoughts of the puzzle that was his sons and focused on the mysteries he could more easily fathom.

X X X X


	11. The Hunter and His Prey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is on the prowl...

Dean gaped as Sam went into his knight in shining armor act. _Wow_ , he thought, _who_ _knew_ _he_ _had_ _it_ _in_ _him?_ _It_ _was_ _corny,_ _but_ _hell_ _if_ _it_ _didn_ _'_ _t_ _look_ _good_ _on_ _the_ _kid..._

When Sam asked Sarah to play pool, and she said yes, Dean smiled. "That's my boy," he muttered. It was clear he'd lost the bet. He knew he'd be doing his brother's bidding for a day - but it was well worth it.

Beth, who sat right next to him, watching his brother's antics with Fran's head on her lap, heard him. She smiled. "I take back what I said."

"What?" asked Dean, pulled away from the scene for a moment. He was trying to remember what she had said.

"He's not a lost little puppy."

"Eating your words, huh?" He laughed.

"You could make this easier for me," she admonished.

"I could," he admitted, "but it's not my style."

"I just wanted to say, I can see he's someone special."

"Well, sometimes he can be a klutzy teddy bear..."

She laughed. "Your brother and my sister... who'd think?"

"If she's anywhere as geeky as Sam," Dean said, "it's a match made in heaven."

"Oh God... Geeky is an understatement," Beth smiled. "Does Sam read cereal boxes and compare nutritional values?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah... Does Sarah quote weird facts that you would swear she made up in the middle of every conversation?"

"And read the _New_ _York_ _Times_ every Tuesday like it's the Holy Bible just for the science section?"

"Is her favorite place..."

"the library?" they both said together.

Suddenly they both laughed. "Definitely a match made in heaven," said Dean. He looked into her shining eyes and was caught, seeing so much of himself - the love for fun, coupled with the worry, the care, the love that she had for her sisters, so much like his attitude towards his brother. He put his hand over Beth's, reveling in the feel of the calloused skin, which mirrored his. He could have sworn he felt a current surging through him when they touched.

He started stroking her fingertips. She gasped involuntarily, the unexpected shock was strong. She looked into his green eyes and all the blatant sexuality she had seen in him earlier in the evening was back in full force, but there was more now - solidarity, understanding, a love of family shared. And suddenly she knew she'd misjudged him earlier.

"You're no wallflower," she said, as it dawned on her. "You're a hunter."

Dean's eyes widened in shock. "A hunter?" he asked, praying, hoping he'd somehow heard wrong. "What do you mean?"

"When it comes to women," she explained, "you go after what you want. You don't hold back. Earlier, I saw you standing by the wall and I thought..."

Dean was relieved that she didn't know about the family business, but annoyed that she'd thought he was a pansy. His masculinity was at stake here; he had to do something about it.

Forgetting that Fran was in her lap, he took her head in his hands and kissed her - a hard, demanding, virile kiss.

Beth found herself kissing Dean back with equal vigor. His tongue probed her mouth and she opened for him, but surprised him when she swept her tongue into his, aggressively tasting him. He tasted of beer and salt, a combination that reminded her of the baseball games she used to take her sisters to when their mother had been alive.

At that moment, Fran cried out. She had been falling asleep but was getting squished in between Beth and Dean. Beth pulled back when she heard her sister's cry. Her hair was mussed and she was breathing hard. Dean absently pushed a black lock back from her forehead and out of her eyes.

She just gazed at him, unable to look away.

They were jerked out of the moment by some whistles from Sam and Sarah. "Nice going, Dean!" his brother teased him.

Dean swore silently. He'd forgotten that they were still sitting by the pool table. In fact, everyone had gone elsewhere but Sarah and Sam. Even his father had left without a word to him.

"When did everyone leave?" he muttered. _Some_ _hunter,_ _losing_ _complete_ _touch_ _with_ _my_ _surroundings._

"So, Beth," Sarah teased, "you and Hot Stuff, huh?"

"Hot stuff?" asked Sam, a little miffed that she only called him Tall Guy while his brother was "Hot Stuff".

"Hot Stuff?" Dean preened.

Beth smirked. "Don't get a swelled head now... it'll slow you down on the hunt."

"The hunt?" Sarah asked... "Never mind, I don't want to know." She turned to Sam. "Only 'cause he thinks he's God's gift to women, Tall Guy," she said.

"Oh," said Sam, feeling a bit better. "Yeah, you should see him in front of a mirror." Dean scowled at him.

"You know, Beth, you look like you could use a bite to eat. Want to take this somewhere a bit more private?" Dean asked, casting a meaningful glance at his brother.

"Where did you have in mind?" she asked. "And I do have to take Fran home. She's probably uncomfortable sleeping in my lap."

Fran snored softly, and moved in her sleep, her head at a strange angle. Beth tried to shift her but couldn't seem to find a good position. It wasn't clear who was more uncomfortable, Beth or her sleeping sister.

"Nothing complicated," Dean said, with a roguish grin. "How 'bout we get some food to go and I take you and Fran home? Simple dinner, quiet evening, and we'll continue our face time at your place..." He waggled his eyebrows at her and his heated look said that she was next on the menu.

Beth found herself blushing, remembering the kiss they'd already shared. She wondered, did Dean think her such easy prey? "No, that's okay," said Beth. "I can drive myself. Sarah, please go tell the others it's time to leave."

Sarah looked at her, blue eyes pleading. "Do we have to go so soon, Beth? I mean, Sam and I just started playing..."

"It would be a shame to have to cut it short," said Sam, "And no offense, but you could probably use a little help with Fran."

Dean pressed the point. "This way, Sarah and Sam can stay a little longer. They look like they have a lot to talk about." He smirked at his brother, who stuck his tongue out at him.

"And how will Sam get home?" Beth wondered. "Didn't he come with you?"

"Oh, my father can take him home."

"Dean..." Sam protested.

Beth frowned. "Your father didn't seem too pleased with either of you."

"He'll mellow out after his talk with Harry. Business always does that to him."

Beth looked at the three of them, Sam with his earnest, concerned look, Sarah with her pleading blue eyes, and Dean, a mixture of strength, sweetness and wickedness in equal measure there in his gaze, and she couldn't muster the strength to fight. She _was_ tired, she could use the help with Fran, and... well, she didn't really want to end her time with Dean so early. Reluctantly, she agreed, "Well... okay." She tossed the car keys to Sarah. "You're the DD, Sarah. Don't stay out too late."

"Yes, mom." Sarah stuck her tongue out at her sister, and dodged out of her sister's reach, narrowly missing a swat to her backside. She put the key in the pocket of her dress and went back to her pool game.

Dean picked Fran up in his arms. She was a little heavier than he expected. He said, "Come on, Beth. Let's get you home."

X X X

Beth sat in the car and watched Dean drive. He moved the wheel with soft touches, as if he were caressing it. She thought of how he had carried Fran to the bar and ordered dinner for all three of them (though she'd bet Fran wouldn't eat hers), balancing the bar menu in his hand while still cradling Fran. Beth had tried to help him with Fran but he wouldn't have it; it made her a bit mad. Damn stubborn man. She had taken the dinners when they came. Then she had helped him lay Fran in the back seat.

Dean's caveman tendencies both irritated and intrigued Beth. She was an independent woman, unaccustomed to being taken care of. But, inexplicably, she found herself taking comfort in being the one who was cared for. It was a rare feeling of... letting go. And she suspected that Dean's brash, macho exterior hid a sweet, inner center. She'd seen the way he took care of his brother...

And the way he had kissed her spoke of a man who could feel deeply, when he let himself.

For a moment, she relived that kiss, and shivered.

"Are you cold, Beth?" Dean asked. "I can turn up the heater."

"No, I'm fine." She smiled at him. "I don't think I thanked you for taking us home."

"Hey, it was the right thing to do," he said. "Besides, I had intended to take you home." The predatory/mischievous gleam was back in his eye.

"Are we back to the hunt now?"

"The hunt never ended," he said. "Did you want it to?"

"No," she admitted. "But I do have to see to Fran first."

"I'll help you," he said. "So now that I have your complete attention... tell me... what's a nice girl like you doing at a place like O'Shaunassy's?"

She laughed. "Is that the best line you can come up with?"

"No... I was hoping you'd take pity on me for a lame line and tell me."

"I come to O'Shaunassy's a lot. Harry's a family friend," she said. "He's been almost like a father to us."

"Your real father must be proud to have such beautiful daughters." He meant it as a compliment, but stopped suddenly when he noticed her sudden silence. "Damn... I'm so sorry, Beth, I stepped on a nerve, didn't I?"

She smiled grimly. "You couldn't have known... My father left us when I was eight. I think he couldn't handle having five daughters in the space of six years."

The silence stretched uncomfortably between them and Dean didn't quite know what to say. Despite the long absences, constant traveling and frequent motel stays, his father had stayed with him and Sam through events that would have torn a normal family apart. He couldn't imagine what kind of douchebag would leave his wife to raise five kids alone.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's all right; it was a long time ago." She pointed. "Turn right at the next corner."

He decided to change the topic. "You know," he said, "at the bar, you never told me how I rate," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Was that the kiss of a hunter?"

"Definitely a hunter," she said. "And I wouldn't mind being the prey."

He smirked, like the cat who'd swallowed the canary.

"But you should be careful," she warned. "You might have a tiger by the tail."

"Tigers can be tamed," he said.

"Or they'll eat you alive," she said, her eyes twinkling.

"Would you like to?"

They were stopped at a red light and he was looking at Beth, as she slowly, deliberately licked her lips. She stared boldly at Dean. This man really brought out her aggressive side.

Dean's eyes widened. He really hadn't expected that. He put his finger to her lips and her tongue stroked his knuckle. He sucked in his breath. _Damn,_ _the_ _girl_ _was_ _good._

He didn't even notice when the light had turned green, but Beth nudged him. "Uh, Dean..."

There was a line of cars behind them, honking.

Reluctantly, he removed his finger. They drove in silence, both shaken by the intensity of their reactions.

Finally, Beth pointed to a large, one-family house with a small porch. "Here," she said, "That's the house."

Dean pulled into the driveway. The lawn was neatly cut and there were flower beds around the windows. "Nice house," he said as he shut the car.

"Thanks." She smiled. "We all take turns keeping it up."

Dean shouldered Fran, who was still sleeping, and carried her to the front door. Beth was already turning the key.

When Beth had settled Fran in her bedroom, there was an uncomfortable silence. Beth and Dean were standing by the bed, inches apart, and the current between them was practically vibrating. Beth cleared her throat. "So, do you want a tour of the house?" she asked.

"What about dinner?" asked Dean.

"We'll eat soon... I'm not that hungry."

"In that case, I'd love a tour," he said.

She took his hand and eagerly led him from room to room. She was almost skipping; it made Dean smile. When she described the work that she and her sisters had put into the house, it was as if all of the care normally on her shoulders - the worry for her sisters, the tight control she kept on herself, the burden of being the responsible one - disappeared.

Soon he was laughing as she described how Sarah, Fran and Chloe had tried to surprise Beth and put in wallpaper in the dining room all by themselves. Somehow they got the consistency on the cement mixture wrong... He could vividly see the scene that Beth described where all of the sisters were eating dinner, and the wallpaper started peeling off the walls.

"The funniest part," she said, "was when that one long strip near the bathroom peeled off and hit Sarah right on the top of her nose."

"Oh no," he groaned. "What did you do?"

"What else?" she giggled. "We cleaned up the mess - the room _and_ Sarah - and started all over again. We had to buy new rolls of wallpaper and some more of the cement paste, but you can bet the girls let me be in charge of it the second time around."

"No more surprises, huh?"

"Well, there are always surprises when you do it yourself."

They were walking into the den, the last room of the house. There was a soft couch there. Dean pulled her over to the couch and pushed her down. "You must be exhausted," he said, "Sit down," He commanded.

She dragged him down next to her. "What about you? It must be a full time job looking after that brother of yours."

"No more than you have looking after your sisters."

One strand of her long, black hair was shading her eyes. On impulse, Dean reached over and pushed the wayward hair back. His fingers brushed her forehead, the simple act sending shivers through her. Beth reached out and stroked his cheek... the slanted jaw with that cute cleft chin right in the middle. And those full lips, not thin, but not too big. She remembered how they had tasted.

Suddenly she realized she was very hungry after all, not just for food.

Before she knew it, she and Dean were both leaning forward. The kiss started softly but soon became demanding, almost consuming. It was dizzying. Their tongues danced and tangled. His hands roamed over her body, under her clothing... Hers were just as bold. The hunter had laid claim to his prey and nothing could tear her away from him now.

Dean smiled as he found the hem of her shirt and started to peel it off. He might be Sam's bitch and watchdog tomorrow, but tonight, he was the hunter. And that was all that mattered.

X X X X


	12. A Knight and His Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Sam (finally) gets the girl...

Sam stood next to Sarah at the pool table, like a knight errant, having successfully vanquished the rogue threatening his lady, awaiting his fair maiden's word. His whole body was still, his eyes pleading, as he waited for her answer to the question he'd been longing to ask all night. Both of their families were watching, but he wasn't aware of anyone but Sarah. All he could see was her deep blue eyes and her long, curly red hair that he longed to run his fingers through. He didn't even realize he was holding his breath until he exhaled in a sudden, surprised gust as her answer, "Who could say no to those eyes," made him grin with relief. He felt like she was dubbing him when she handed him the cue stick.

He didn't quite hear her next words, and she had to repeat them.

"What?" he said.

"Come on, let's shoot to see who gets the break shot." She grinned.

"Sure," he said.

The two of them stood at the head rail, Sam on the right and Sarah on the left. The green cloth of the pool table stretched before them like a field of battle, the knight and the lady in competition. They each placed a ball directly in front of them, a few inches from the head rail, and aimed carefully, each of them watching the other surreptitiously. It was a game of skill and strength. The balls had to roll right down the entire table length, bounce off the opposite rail, and come back down the table to rest as close to the head rail as possible. The one whose ball was closest to the head rail would get to make the break shot.

Sarah made her shot, but was distracted by Sam's face in her peripheral vision, his curly brown bangs hanging over his forehead. She longed to push them aside. When she finished, the ball rested a mere three centimeters from the edge. A good shot, but really, she could do better. Sam's shot was a just a little bit closer to the head rail.

"Not bad," Sam said. He was trying not to look too impressed, but he thought he was failing dismally.

"Not bad yourself," she teased. "Do you do this often?"

"I've had a little bit of practice," he said.

Suddenly she noticed John and Harry, standing by the side of the pool table, waiting expectantly. She touched Sam's hand. "I think your dad wants to talk to you."

Sam looked at his dad, bracing for another argument. He was surprised when Dad simply said, "Well this has been... unexpected, and I still have a lot to say to you boys but if this whole business is over, I've got a meeting I'd like to get to." Sam started to answer, but Dad and Harry were already moving away from the pool table. _Preoccupied_ _with_ _the_ _next_ _hunt_ _already,_ thought Sam, but he found it hard to muster up any anger. When his dad left, his shoulders sagged unconsciously, the tension leaving his body.

"That's better," said Sarah. "I swear, that man winds you up like a clock."

He opened his mouth to deny it, but then shut it. She was right. He decided to ignore the comment and move on.

He was starting to rack the balls when Sarah grabbed his hand. "Oh my God, Sam... would you look at that!" she whispered, pointing to Dean and Beth, who were kissing, open-mouthed. The heated kiss went on for at least two minutes while Sam and Sarah stared, mesmerized. Fran, squished between Dean and Beth like a pretzel, groaned. Sam and Sarah let out long, low whistles.

"Nice going, Dean!" Sam called. He saw the confusion on Dean's face. He could almost hear the curse words under his brother's breath. This was priceless... Dean had actually forgotten where he was. Sam gleefully added this to the long list of ammunition to use against his brother.

But Sarah's next words sent his soaring mood plummeting to the ground.

"So, Beth," Sarah teased, "you and Hot Stuff, huh?"

"Hot stuff?" Sam sputtered. _How_ _come_ _Dean_ _got_ _to_ _be_ _"_ _Hot_ _Stuff_ _"_ _?_

Sarah noticed Sam's reaction. She would have laughed at how much he resembled a pouty child if it wasn't so damn cute on him.

"Hot Stuff?" Dean raised his shoulders and tossed his head like a preening peacock. Sam's scowl, directed at Dean, made Sarah smile. It was bad of her, but she rather enjoyed making the guy she liked jealous. _And_ _besides_ _which,_ she thought, _he_ _'_ _s_ _adorable_ _when_ _he_ _broods._ _Let_ _him_ _stew_ _a_ _minute_ _more_.

Beth smirked. "Don't get a swelled head now... it'll slow you down on the hunt."

 _The_ _hunt?_ Sam stared at Dean. _He_ _told_ _her_ _about_ _the_ _hunt?_

Sarah frowned, confused. "The hunt?" she asked... "Never mind, I don't want to know." She turned to Sam. _Time_ _to_ _put_ _him_ _out_ _of_ _his_ _misery._ "Only 'cause he thinks he's God's gift to women, Tall Guy," she said.

His answering smirk made her insides practically melt. "Oh," said Sam, "Yeah, you should see him in front of a mirror." Dean scowled, while Sarah bit back a chuckle. _Score_ _one_ _for_ _Sam,_ she thought.

Then Dean suggested taking Beth somewhere more private, which became an offer to drive her and Fran home. _Go,_ _Beth,_ thought Sarah, but her older sister was being too damn stubborn for her own good. "No, that's okay," she said. "I can drive myself. Sarah, please go tell the others it's time to leave."

 _Oh_ _no,_ thought Sarah, _I_ _am_ _not_ _leaving_ _now._ "Do we have to go so soon, Beth? I mean, Sam and I just started playing..." _Please,_ _sis,_ _I_ _just_ _met_ _this_ _guy..._ _and_ _we_ _'_ _re_ _really_ _hitting_ _it_ _off..._ She gave Beth her best puppy-dog look.

Sam backed her up. "It would be a shame to have to cut it short," said Sam, "And no offense, but you could probably use a little help with Fran."

In the end, Sarah wasn't sure if it was the combined strength of the arguments from her, Sam and Dean, or her silent plea to her sister that did the trick. But Beth surrendered the car keys, and she, Dean and Fran left, leaving Sam and Sarah blessedly alone.

Sam sighed... "Finally," he said. "Alone at last."

He looked at her and their eyes caught. And suddenly it hit them. There were no distractions, no siblings to tease or fight with, no thieves to catch or challenge... just them, the pool table, and the need to communicate. Both of them had so much they wanted to ask.. but neither could think of how to start the conversation.

The silence stretched on as Sam racked the balls, trying to set them as tight as possible. He lifted the rack out carefully. "There," he said, "Is that tight enough for you?" He looked at her and his eyes rested for a moment on her chest, in that form-fitting sweater dress. Maybe it was the word "rack". _Am_ _I_ _channeling_ _Dean_ _tonight?_ he thought.

He usually didn't pay so much attention to the physical details of the women he met. But he couldn't help but take in everything about Sarah. She came up to his shoulder, maybe about four inches shorter than Dean. More than her hair, her deep blue eyes, the way she leaned against the pool table and studied those balls so intensely, the way her shirt was pressing against her breasts...

She checked the balls and nodded. "Sure." Then she noticed where his eyes were. "A little distracted, Sam?" She laughed.

He blushed, probably the 14th time he'd blushed that night. With an almost herculean effort, he tore his eyes away. "No... that is," he stuttered. "Uh... You know, I must have gone through 419 pickup lines in my head tonight, and now that I'm with you, I can't remember a single one of them."

She grinned. "Really? Four hundred and nineteen?" she asked as he aimed carefully for the break.

"Well, okay, maybe 200."

"Two hundred?" she said.

He shot her a smile. "Okay, you got me. More like 50."

He broke the rack and balls scattered, lined up in a giant swirl, like a whirlpool. He studied the balls carefully. What should he try for? The 3-ball was a relatively easy in, in the center pocket by the foot rail. And taking solids looked like a better position... but should he take the stripes just because they were harder? And then he thought of Sarah. No, he decided, she probably wouldn't take that well.

He made the 3-ball easily.

"You know," she said, moving over to stand next to him, "that's probably the best pickup line you've used all night."

"Did it work?"

"Have I run away yet?" She squinted at the table, assessing the field of play. The problem was that no matter which of her balls she shot at, she was in danger of hitting one of his... "You've put me in quite a position... If I'm not careful, I'll pocket some of yours as well."

"Too hard for you, Sarah?" he teased.

She stuck out her tongue at him. "Yuk it up, just don't choke on my smoke."

He laughed. "I knew you were up for a challenge."

"Actually, Sam, I'd like to thank you."

"For what?" He looked at her, puzzled. Her eyes were shining with something like admiration.

"For not doing something dorky and stupidly overprotective... like taking the harder position just cause I'm a woman."

Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief. _Good_ _call_ , he thought. He shook his head. "Why would I do that?" he said. "I've seen you play pool. I need all the breaks I can get." The wry admission in his voice made her laugh.

"So why pool?" he asked, as he aimed for the 5-ball, which was a few inches from the foot rail. This should be another fairly clear shot, for the corner pocket this time. "How'd you get so good?"

It was her voice that did him in, or maybe his overconfidence at what should have been an easy shot. He kept trying to look at her as he was aiming. He liked to watch her talk; her expressive face was more riveting than the game they were playing.

"It was a matter of survival," she said. Her face was serious but her eyes were laughing at him.

"Survival?" he asked. He made the shot, but his surprise at her answer ruined his aim. The angle was off, and the ball hit the foot rail instead, bouncing back maybe an inch and a half.

"Yeah, I guess you do need every break you can get," she laughed. He wrinkled his nose at her. "Survival?" he prompted.

He waited patiently while she surveyed the table. He wondered if she saw it as he saw a scene in the middle of a hunt - like a chess match, where he had to see several moves ahead sometimes, to find the quickest and safest road to victory.

"9-ball in the corner pocket," she said, moving to the head rail side again. She hit the 9-ball at just the right angle off of his 7-ball so that it rolled into the corner pocket. The 7-ball spun and came to a stop barely a half inch away from the center pocket on that side of the table. She looked at him and blew on the cue stick like it was a smoking gun. "Watch my smoke, baby," she said.

"Hey, don't cry victory yet, Sarah. You've just given me an easy hole for the 7," he pointed out.

"But," she said, "it's still my turn." While she was lining up her next shot, the 12-ball in the side pocket, she said, "There I was, the geek in a family with four boy-crazy sisters... They would come and hang out here at O'Shaunassy's all the time... It's like a second home to us, what with my dad gone for so long..." She stopped, surprised at what she was telling him.

He nodded. "I take it this isn't your average, run-of-the-mill bar..."

"Does it seem that way to you?"

"No... And Harry and Molly... they're special..."

"You noticed, huh? Well, I had to find something to do here. It was definitely survival." Sarah looked up for a minute and saw Sam staring at the bar walls. He noticed their brown paneled wood, with the glowing, creamy white wall sconces attached every few feet. The sconces cast a pretty glow, and their curved, brass fixtures seemed more at home in the 19th century. The ceiling light fixtures were also creamy white, the opaque glass bowls set almost flush with the ceiling, a sharp contrast to the deer antlers curved around the bowls. The crowd, also, seemed tame compared to other bars he'd been in, and the place had a magical feeling that he hadn't really noticed earlier.

"Sam?" she asked, wondering what other world he'd stepped into. She put down her cue stick for a moment.

He shook his head, pulling out of his musings. "I'm just trying to imagine you growing up in this place," he said. "I wish I'd had some place so... safe."

"Why?" she wondered. "Surely you have a place you call home?" She didn't like the look of desperate wistfulness that was creeping into his eyes. She felt as if there was a deep well of longing inside of him, hidden and normally suppressed, that was bubbling to the surface.

He laughed, and there was a touch of sadness in it. "My family... we're on the road a lot," he said. "The closest I have to a home is the car my brother drives."

She decided that he looked entirely too sad. "Hey," she said, "What kind of car is it?"

He stared at her like she was crazy. "A 1967 Chevy Impala."

"Hmm... old car, probably pretty big, right?"

"Yeah."

"Wide carriage? Soft leather seats? Good heating system? Probably pretty comfortable for a tall guy like you."

He nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. So?"

"Don't you see?" She waved her hands around as if sketching a picture of the Impala in the air. "It's like your protection, your haven against the elements. I bet you and your brother played lots of games on the road... plenty of good memories in that Impala."

Suddenly, his sadness lifted like a banner flying in the breeze and he laughed. "You are incredible," he said. "And this has been one strange night..."

"You're telling me? I still have the imprint of your butt from when you fell on top of me..."

She sighed, a bit wistful... Of course she didn't like being knocked down, but the physical contact had been... _engaging_ , she decided. _Engaging?_ _Is_ _that_ _what_ _you_ _call_ _it?_

He wondered what could have caused that sigh.

"So," he said, "are you going to make that shot?"

She focused in on the pool table, setting up her shot again, but visions of Sam's ass pressed against her threw her aim off slightly. She got her ball in, but hit one of his as well, and pushed it into the side pocket.

"Ah," he said, "My turn, I believe." He took his cue stick and walked next to her for a different view of the table... an excuse to be a little closer to her. She was so quiet at the moment... "A penny for your thoughts?" he asked.

"Something's been bothering me all night," she said, turning back to him.

"What's that?" He looked over at her, cue stick in her right hand, leaning against the table next to him, gazing up into his soft brown eyes.

"You're obviously not comfortable with the bar scene, let alone pickup lines. Why were you running a hit-on-women marathon?"

He laughed. "You are blunt, lady."

"So I've been told... but I think you're avoiding the question."

"You really want to know?"

"Yes..."

He looked away from her, towards the floor. "You won't like it."

"Try me..." she said.

"Well, my brother... he does this sort of thing all the time... you know..."

"Picking up women in bars?"

"Anywhere, really... He's very good at it."

"Ah... " she laughed. "Peer pressure... So let me guess, your brother was teasing you, and told you he bet you couldn't pick up a woman at a bar."

He stared at her. "What are you, psychic?"

"You're forgetting," she said, "I have four older sisters."

"You're not upset?"

"I could be," she mused, "but actually, in his own, twisted way, I think it's kind of sweet. Dean obviously cares a lot about you. I bet he really wanted you to succeed."

Sam smiled. "Maybe... He certainly didn't seem disappointed about losing, only at the idea of being caught by Dad."

"So we really should thank Dean," she said.

"And Fran," Sam said. "If she hadn't been chasing me..."

"And Fran." Sarah shook her head and chuckled. "Poor Fran... Though I wanted to punch her lights out earlier."

"You did?"

"I had to watch her put her hands all over you... she even got to hug you first!"

He smiled at how annoyed she sounded. "So," he said, "I take it you wanted to hug me?" His voice got deeper, more flirtatious, even as his face reddened unconsciously. She thought he looked supremely huggable. She put down the cue stick and closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him. He was muscular in a wiry way, and she liked the feel of his firm chest, the sound of his heartbeat as her head lay against him. The top of her head came up to his shoulder, and she felt secure and safe in his arms, which had circled hers, his cue stick slipping from his grip and dropping to the floor.

She felt a liquid warmth building in her, spreading from her breasts where they were pressed against Sam's waist. She could feel every part of him against her, even through the plaid shirt and jeans he was wearing. It was as if she was storing a memory of his body in her mind, imprinting the feel of him on her soul. And then she felt a certain private part of his grow rigid against her stomach.

He pulled away quickly. She looked up at him in confusion, expecting to see distaste, even scorn, in his eyes. Instead, she saw a strong passion that he was struggling to control.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to push you."

"You didn't push me," he said. "I just..."

She laughed, a bit breathless. "I don't even have the excuse of being drunk. I haven't had a single beer all night. Underage, and Harry won't serve."

She was looking down at the pool table, now, and Sam could see she was embarrassed. "Hey," he said, "It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong... I was just... surprised."

She continued to look down.

He lifted her chin, tilting her head up so she was looking at him. "Sarah," he said gently, "I'm sorry I pulled away. I just... haven't had much experience with women."

Her wide-eyed expression showed her disbelief.

"I was shocked," he said, "at the strength of my feelings."

"Really?"

"Really," he said, and was gratified to see the sparkle in her eyes return.

"Feelings, huh?"

She reached up and brushed that stubborn tendril of hair that kept creeping into his eyes off of his forehead. A small jolt of electricity ran through her fingertips. Startled, she pulled her hand away but wished she could continue the touch.

She stared at her hand and chuckled. "There's a study that says that the average volume of alcohol in bar patrons is .06 percent. But I know you didn't drink that much. So we can't blame your feelings on the beer."

He let go of her chin and took her hand. "You read that study?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, why?" She looked at him, a little afraid he'd make fun of her reading habits.

"No one I know ever does. They tell me I'm nuts to be reading all that 'crazy geek stuff'."

"Oh, I know... I get that all the time."

Sarah looked at Sam and wondered how it was that she had finally met someone who understood the place apart in which she'd always been?

"But some of these studies are just pointless." She giggled. "I mean, really - what do they think happens in bars?"

"I know. Hmm... People come to bars to... drink? What a revelation!" Sam laughed. "To think I'd meet a girl who knows about the Halderman Alcohol study."

"This is too unreal to be true!" she said. "Don't you feel like we're in the middle of some kind of fictional story ourselves?"

"What story do you think we're in?" Sam wondered.

"Well, until you did your Sir Galahad routine, I would have said we were in a Three Stooges movie... But then I changed my mind."

"My Sir Galahad routine?"

"Yes... When you went all courtly on me, I decided this was a medieval romance, with you cast in the role of the knight determined to win the heart of his lady."

He ran his fingers of his left hand down the back of his hair, a nervous habit when a conversation became a bit too uncomfortable. He shook his head. "You've got me all wrong, Sarah. I'm no knight in shining armor. But you're perfect in the role of the princess."

She tilted her head as she looked up at him. "Okay, if you're not the knight, what role would you cast yourself in?"

"A pretender to knighthood... a bumbling fool dressed for the part... and the princess will probably kick him out as soon as she realizes who he really is beneath the facade."

She caught her breath and looked at Sam incredulously. "Do you really believe that?"

He didn't say a word. She took both of his hands in hers and said, "We have to do something about that low self-esteem of yours, Tall Guy. Do you know what I was thinking all night?"

He shook his head.

"I kept noticing you. And every time I was trying to focus on the pool game with Snark, something would happen and my eyes would be pulled over to you. And I kept thinking..." She stopped. _Do_ _I_ _really_ _want_ _to_ _tell_ _him_ _this?_ she thought.

"What?" he prompted, at her obvious discomfort. He squeezed her hand.

"I kept thinking, 'Damn, I wish that Tall Guy would come over and talk to me.'"

"Really?" he asked, his eyes wide.

"Really."

"Well, I wish I had... It would probably have saved me a lot of embarrassment." He licked his lips nervously. "The whole night, I wanted to come over to you. But you were standing by the pool table, looking so beautiful... and the fact that Snark was there... it intimidated me."

Her eyes widened. "I'm beautiful?" She seemed a bit incredulous and she shook her head a bit. "Speaking of pool games, Sam... I believe it's your turn..."

With four balls pocketed, two of his and two of hers, the table was starting to look a little emptier. But Sam wasn't even paying attention to the game. He just kept looking at Sarah, holding her hand.

"Why can't you believe you're beautiful? Surely other men have told you..."

"Oh, I know I'm pretty. But... most guys, they don't want a woman who thinks. They get scared away. I'm more like... I don't know... the plain youngest daughter whose sisters outshine her." When she said this, she looked down at the table again, as if afraid to look in his eyes and see the truth.

"Look at me, Sarah." She didn't move. Sam took her face in his hands and tilted her head up so she was forced to look in his eyes. "I think you're beautiful... more than any other woman I've met."

She shook her head. "No..."

He nodded emphatically. "Yes." And to prove it, and because it was something he had wanted to do all evening but hadn't had the nerve, he bent down and covered her mouth with his. The kiss began slowly, hesitantly, as if he were afraid she would pull away. But the lady met him halfway, responding with a passion that astounded them both. She melted in his arms, the pool game forgotten. The kiss turned harder, Sam's lips almost bruising on hers, but neither of them minded. They were shivering with a need born from finding in one another a kindred spirit, a partnership of wit and wonder, and an electric feeling of belonging that suffused their bodies. Neither had thought to find another who understood the world of thoughts and dreams, that special, lonely, kingdom in which they had grown. Victorious at last, the knight claimed his lady, and at least for now, none would tear them apart.

X X X


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good stories must come to an end...

Sam sat on the porch of his home, breathing in the fresh, clover-scented air, looking, with eyes that never tired of the sight, at the green lawn stretching before him. It was early morning, and the sun was still coming up. He always liked to come out when the world was quiet, when the dew was still fresh on the grass, when his children were still sleeping and he could sit and thank God for a future others had said was beyond his reach. The door behind him opened, and he could sense her - his lady. She leaned over his shoulder, looking out at the sunrise. She wound her arms around him, the papers in her hand pressing against his lean stomach, her red hair tumbling across his shoulder.

"Sarah?" he said in wonder, for he had never lost the awe that she would love him.

"Yes, love..." she answered, nuzzling his neck, kissing him where his hair touched the skin, a gentle touch that quickly turned into something much hotter. He turned towards her, his body already wanting the woman who viewed the world with laughing eyes, those deep, blue eyes that were shining at him. They moved toward each other at the same time, their lips opening hungrily, as if to duel. It took Sam back to that long-ago night in the bar, but he knew, at this point, that they were evenly matched. They were lost in the kiss... until the hard thump of the papers hitting the floor took them out of their enchantment. They broke apart.

"Damn," she said, and laughed. She bent down and picked up the papers. "Here, I brought you the National Law Journal. Thought you'd want to look at it before your morning run."

"Thanks," he said. "The kids?"

"Still asleep... as if you didn't know," she teased. "In a couple of hours, it'll be time to wake them up."

She sat on his lap and he stroked her hair. "What would I do without you?"

"Oh, I don't know... you'd probably have rescued some other damsel in distress."

"Never!"

"Oh," she said, "I almost forgot... Dean called."

"He did?"

"Yeah. He said he just finished a hunt and he's coming to visit. So..." Her nose wrinkled. "He said to repeat this word for word."

Sam sighed, knowing his brother.

"He said, 'Be sure you've got enough beer on hand, Bitch.'"

Sam laughed. "Better buy some cases, Sarah."

The sunrise was nearly at an end. The two of them watched, arm in arm, as the golden rays of sunlight lit up the porch. The light was shining almost directly in Sam's eyes...

Sam squinted against the rays of sunlight streaming into the motel window. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, wishing he could take back the feeling of Sarah's arms around him, the painted white wooden chairs on that porch, the scent of clover from the perfect green lawn... His keen regret at losing the pure joy of that morning mingled with a sense of disbelief and wonder. _Will I ever have that future? Is that even possible?_ Yet his sense of well being lingered. In the wake of a night talking to Sarah, so much more seemed attainable.

He stretched and sat straight up in bed, his calm giving way to concern. The motel room was completely quiet. Too quiet. Where was Dad? His bed was made, as usual. And it had to be at least 8, 9 o'clock. Dad usually got them up at 6 or 7... Rule number twelve: He who heads out early catches the enemy by surprise.

Sam opened the bedroom door, moving quietly. He fully expected to be chewed out for being at the bar last night and for sleeping so late. Instead, he stared at a table laid out with covered plates, still warm to the touch, plastic knives and forks, and a carton of orange juice. Two glasses were in the middle. He lifted a cover and discovered eggs, hash browns and bacon. Then he noticed the note.

_Boys,_

_Out for a recon. We leave at noon. Be ready._

_Dad_

Sam shook his head. _This was... weird._ But being hungry, he sat down and started to eat.

At that moment, Dean walked in, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smirk. Swaggering a bit, he threw his jacket off and draped it over a chair, then stopped, staring at the table. He took in the settings, the food, the note. He picked it up and read it, once, twice...

"So, guess you and Beth really turned up the heat, Hot Stuff?" Sam teased.

Dean smirked. "Have to live up to my name." He sat down and punched Sam on the shoulder. "I heard you weren't bad yourself. Someone - actually two someones - told me this morning that they spied you kissing a certain redhead. They were teasing her about it, actually."

Sam reddened, and started fiddling with his fork. "Come on, Casanova, better eat up before the food gets cold."

"Did someone replace Dad with a changeling?" Dean asked, as he shoveled a piece of bacon in his mouth.

"You got me," Sam said. "I expected him to tear me a new one. All he said last night was, 'You must be tired. Get some sleep, we've got a big hunt tomorrow.' He didn't wake me up early, like always. And then... this." He pointed at the breakfast banquet.

Dean snorted. "Mmm..." he mumbled around a forkful of hash browns, "I could get used to this."

"Yeah, well, don't," said Sam. "It won't last. It's only because of Harry..."

Dean laughed. "Well, we should hit O'Shaunassy's more often," he said.

"Just so Harry can mellow Dad out... or do you want to see Beth again?"

"Maybe," Dean admitted, "Speaking of which, did you get Sarah's number?"

"What do you think?" Sam smiled. "I won the bet... but I think you wanted that."

"What, are you kidding? Why would I want to be your slave for a day, dork?"

"Don't know, Dean... but thanks."

Dean shrugged. "For what? I didn't do anything."

Sam sighed. "Last night was good, wasn't it?"

The brothers sat in silence, enjoying a rare moment of relaxation in a life that was usually one long roller-coaster Hell ride. Sam finally broke the silence. "So, Dean..."

"Yeah?"

"About that bet..."

Dean sighed. "I kind of hoped you'd forget. Okay, Samantha, what do you want me to do? Wash your laundry with some of that sissy fabric softener you like? Read from one of your geeky magazines?"

Sam laughed. "Nothing so easy, bro. I walked a mile in your shoes. Now you're going to walk in mine."

Dean stared at him blankly.

"You're going to write a poem!"

"A poem?" Dean sputtered.

"It has to be a serious poem, Dean. None of that 'Roses are red' crap."

"Come on, Sam... I'll wash your stinky socks. I'll do your research... Hell, I'll even run naked through a gay bar... But don't make me write a poem!"

"And then," Sam continued gleefully, unable to hide his widening smile, "Then you're going to perform this poem. In front of a live audience." He held up a flyer. "There's a poetry reading in the next town over. And you're going to be there."

Dean groaned. "Come on, Sam, you're killing me!"

"Suck it up, bro. Or is writing a poem too hard for you?"

Dean glared at Sam. "Pain in the ass!" he muttered, but his spine stiffened at his brother's taunts, and he'd already decided to write the best damn poem he could, just to throw those words in his brother's face.

Sam, attuned to his brother's body language, knew immediately that he had won. And three words popped into his head - a thought he'd had often in the past, and would probably have many times more.

_That's my brother._

What he said was, "Dude, you'd rather run naked through a gay bar than write a poem? That's just messed up."

"Shut up, Samantha, if you ever want to see that poem."

* * The End * *


End file.
